


The taste of butter

by RedRarebit



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gilfoyles brief cock crisis, Kink Meme, Pegging, Prompt Fill, poorly written but lovingly crafted minor mentions of Satan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRarebit/pseuds/RedRarebit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most temptations didn't come in the form of an apple - too obvious. Some were offered with a smile and a laugh and an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The taste of butter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daisiestdaisy (Doyle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyle/gifts).



"Thats right - Fuck, Tar-" Gilfoyle bit his lip a little, slowing his hand on his cock for a moment. On the screen, fuzzy in her bedroom light, Tara rolled her hips on the toy she'd suctioned to the chair, tossing her head back as she pinched a nipple, gasping. "Go on, a little harder. I want to see you finish, cmon."

"Couple'a weeks," Tara said breathlessly, shifting her hips in a slow, curling motion that Gilfolye felt somewhere low in his gut, recognizing the little hitch in her thighs. "I'll be right down there, baby, gonna have you fuck me so hard-" He hissed a little bit, tightening his grip on himself a moment, and she laughed, hand sliding down her side. "Might fuck you really hard too, huh?"

"--What?" Thrown for a loop, and distracted by her low moan, Gilfoyle pushed it to the back of his mind and let his hand take over instead, stroking himself faster as she let herself wind down. He came with a shudder and his bitten off hitch, and couldn't muster the urge to scowl at her little giggle of recognition at the noise. 

They took a moment to clean up, Gilfoyle keeping his eyes on the keyboard, his desk, his stomach as he worked. She was quiet too, letting him focus, before she cleared her throat gently.

"I wasn't," She started, then paused and pulled a top on - he was pleased, in a warm sort of way, to see it was one of his old sweaters, worn and pale from use. "I mean, I was serious, but I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn't have just sprung it on you." 

"No," Gilfoyle shook his head and sat up a little more, pushing his hand through his hair a moment. "No, its not that. It just surprised me. I've never considered it." He continued honestly, mulling it over for a few long moments. 

"Think it over." Tara advised once she realized he was going to stay that way. "No pressure." She glanced at the corner of the screen and sighed, giving him a little smile. "I gotta go anyway. Keeping me up all hours of the night when I've got work the next day."

"You love it."

"I love you."

"Goodnight, T." She laughed a little when the call ended and Gilfoyle leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his stomach a moment. It would be foolish to deny himself a pleasure he hadn't experienced before, he reasoned. He just wasn't sure if it would be a pleasure, or -- Well, he interrupted his own train of thought as he hauled himself off the chair and into bed, stretching out for a moment before curling on his side. There was a reason thousands of men indulged in it. Surely it couldn't be so bad.

More research was needed.

~*~*~

"Why?" Fuck you, breakfast dates were classy. He prodded his eggs with his fork, his other hand clamped around his coffee mug handle. On his phone screen, Tara swallowed her croissant and gestured a bit as she waited. "Why do you - I mean, what appeals to you, about it."

"About- Oh." She tilted her head a little, absently tearing off little bits of the pastry to wrap around more bites of bacon, and his heart ached a little bit. No one had to know he missed being able to steal those little bits of meat before she got to them, earning him a whine and a complaining series of shoulder punches. It was fine to miss what was yours. "Well. I think you'd enjoy it, physically speaking. And you'd look amazing. Delicious." She said the word the same way she said it for one of her horrible sundaes, piled high with oreos and sprinkles and sauces. Like it was a treat. 

Treats were very agreeable with Tara, he'd found.

~*~*~

"How big?" He wrinkled his nose a little, the sound of gunfire tinny in his headset. It sounded like such a weird way to ask that sort of thing - how big an object are you going to shove into my poor, unguarded and trusting asshole - but it was necessary. She laughed when he cursed loudly, resisting the urge to slam his controller on the desk a few times in frustration.

She took out his kneecaps with a single shot. He loved her.

"I don't know." Tara replied once she'd walked over to finish him off, double-tap. "Not bigger then your own. Not realistic looking, unless that would make you feel better."

"I don't think it would." A realistic plastic cock would start distracting him, make him think of actual men. And he wasn't attracted to men - he could appreciate one aesthetically, he wasn't totally blind, but he had never envisioned himself dating one. "Could I have input on which one it was?"

"Oh, Bertram." He glanced around at her soft tone, remembered she was on the headset and relaxed a little. "I would never, ever just get one without your approval of it. Never. How about this," She continued as he set up the next game. "I'll email you a list of links. Ones I think you'd like. You send back a shortlist of ones you would - consider acceptable. I'll pick from that."

"You're assuming I'm considering this at all."

"You're the one who keeps bringing it up." She let him fall silent, and got back to shooting at him.

~*~*~

Maybe he was considering it. Enough not to immediately delete the email he got a few days later, the subject taunting him with 'For your consideration - cocks'. It wasn't that he was entirely oblivious to the design, or presence, of sex toys. Tara had plenty of them, the perks and woes of a long (long, long too long) distance relationship. One or two, the less threatening bullets, had been cupped in her palm as she stroked him, and that had been wonderful fun.

Gilfoyle considered himself an open-minded man, welcoming of the strange and the unusual, the road less traveled. He opened the email.

After negotiating which links were to actual products and not cleverly disguised Meatspin traps (Hell, he loved her) he settled down to get through the pros and cons of each product. That one looked reliably smooth, that one wasn't too curved, that one vibrated. All of them, he was a little disgruntled to discover, were some shade of pink. He blamed her taste for that, but he wasn't about to go digging for his own just for aesthetics. 

Finally he made a list and sent it to her - he'd narrowed it down to three options, and simply told her to pick whichever one suited her budget. She responded with a reminder of the time to pick her up from the airport.

~*~*~

No one knew him at the airport. It was a brief moment, one she pretended to insist on to keep his ego intact, but Gilfoyle shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around her back, lifting her off her feet a little as he held onto her. His nose was buried in her hair, glasses knocked a little by the force of her return and Hells teeth, that was the thing wasn't it, her coming to him was always a return home for both of them. The Venn diagram of their personal space could overlap seamlessly, making something that was both smaller and larger then their individual bubbles. He curled his fingers, twisting them in the fabric of her sweater and leaned down into her, and she ignored his soft, almost wounded little noise when he breathed her in, tension building in his shoulders before he let them drop a precious inch or two. 

"Good flight?" He asked when he put her down again, her hands coming up to gently settle his glasses again. Tara nodded a little, stroking her hands back through his hair to settle them on his shoulders and smiled a little, shut her eyes when his forehead briefly touched hers. 

"Not bad. Movie was a cute one."

"Gross."

"I'm gonna make you watch it."

She did. It was horrible. 

~*~*~

Three days later, and she was only just unpacking, what a woman. Granted, the first day had been filled with exhausted naps and their reviving silence, the second with harassing the locals and letting her get fed up on whatever disgusting food truck she found first. He let her get on with it, at least until a box was thrown at him, hitting him in the chest and falling onto the sheets.

"Why."

"Open it." She replied, pulling out a shirt and squinting at it critically. He shifted enough to sit up in bed, opening the box and staring at the - 

The pink cock. Of course.

"Why Tara," He said as tonelessly as he could, even as he picked it up and turned it over in his hand curiously. "You shouldn't have."

"I shouldn't?"

"Well, no," He agreed, setting it back in the box and giving - what he assumed - was the harness a tentative poke. "I guess you should have."

"You know," He felt the bed dip, and she moved the box before inviting herself onto his lap, arms draped over his shoulders and hair loose, hanging around his head when she leaned in to kiss his nose. "You don't have to. Not because you feel obligated to, or because you think its something I want, or because you've said you might and now need to. If it doesn't feel right, we wont."

"I know." Her skin was warm under the sweater, and he let his fingers spread over her, palms against the outward swell of her hips. Tara sighed when he pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck to press warming, open-mouthed kisses against her skin, feeling the press of her body against his through the sheets. Her fingers went to his hair, careful as she stroked and eased her way down his neck, nails scratching the back gently to hear and feel his soft growl against her neck.

~*~*~

It felt very normal, when it happened.

Her kisses always had a bit of bite to them, and he always had a little bit of a thrill to see her above him, to see her taking her pleasure as easily as he took his. It was only a small shift in their usual posture, Tara crawling up between his legs to kiss on him until he was growling and shifting against her body, skin heated against hers, hands greedy and grabby on her. She leaned back, moving her quick mouth up his neck to his ear.

"Let me have you," She murmured. _Wouldst thou like the taste of butter?_ He knew His voice when he heard it, felt the answering little coil in his chest and stomach and somewhere in the chambers of his heart, and nodded when he kissed her again, biting into the fruit of her lips. Her hands were soft against him, and he was glad for a moment that they were both already naked. 

Somehow, the idea of having to get ready for something had chilled the idea a bit. But this was simple enough, Tara promised him that. She could keep him distracted with kisses and the wet clench of her body around his fingers, just to keep him occupied and happy as her hands worked a similar job on his own body.

It wasn't painful - he was very vigilant to that, alert to guard his reaction to any sting or ache. But she was careful with him, something that caused an ache under his chest until she shifted her hand, her body against his with a needy sort of whine against his skin, teeth and lips catching on his neck in a desperate sort of half-bite. Then the ache moved, pushing his hands onto her to soothe her body of the want, to groan against the top of her head.

"I need to," She shifted back, fumbling slick hands under the bed and why hadn't they planned that better. He did his best not to move, wasn't sure if that would cause any complications until she came back, pressing warm and cold against him, kissing him again with a sort of soft hunger. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," He had to swallow when he felt her hands on his hips, seemingly too small to hold this sort of thing in place. He nodded though, leaning up a little with what he'd never call a pleading noise to kiss her again, and when she obliged he felt any worry fade a little, felt the blunt warmed plastic press and nudge at him. Then it - she - was pressing in and he had to break away, to breathe and calm the hammer in his chest when she seated herself, little nipping kisses falling on his shoulder. 

Tara waited for him, keeping her body still as his trembled a little, body hitching against the intrusion. She had been right, Tara realized, watching his body flush and break like a wave when she shifted her hips a little, her nails digging into his hip to hear him groan in that muffled, private way. He looked delicious, apple-crisp sweet and sharp with sweat against her lips when she dipped her head to kiss him again, feel his breath pant against her open mouth. She took it slow for him, remembered the worry and uncertainty of her own experiences, almost felt a guiding hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, the whisper of a reminder that taking care for pleasure was a wonderful thing.

As if she would ever harm him.

"Tell me," She murmured, hips careful not to snap into him, watching the curl and release of his fingers in the sheets as she worked him. "Tell me if you-"

"I wont," He breathed back, fingers going up into her hair, back arching when he groaned, low and full sounding with a note of honey in his voice, a tone she felt low in the pit of her stomach, pushing her into him harder with a shudder of her own. "Don't stop-" 

He felt his crisis faster then he'd like to have admitted to anyone, the blunt press of her teeth mixing with the sharp sting of her nails breaking the skin on his hips, the waves of pressure and heat spiking up his spine and skittering under his skin like fractals made of something glass-like and light. Gilfoyle moaned something incoherently as his body twisted slowly with hers, seeking every inch of skin contact he could get before he gasped, a wet and breathless sound that felt like it came from the very bottom of his lungs. 

Tara held his body down gently, not wanting him to twist about too much and manage to hurt himself, and he sunk back against the sheets as he wound down, hands grasping on her back and keeping her close despite the mess that had splattered between them, painting their skin. She could wait, thighs trembling a little and harness slick with more then what she'd used on him, biting her lip a little as she nuzzled at his neck, feeling the frantic shiver of his pulse. 

"Tara-"

"Shhh..."

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this prompt](http://siliconvalleykink.dreamwidth.org/1066.html?thread=1066#cmt1066) over at the [Kink Meme](http://siliconvalleykink.dreamwidth.org/). If you liked this, why not go fill some too, spread the love around!


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